The Ponsonby café Kevin chose was crowded and the noise a distraction. Pearly had intended to ring Helen but instead sent a text saying he would call when at the airport. Even talking to his son was difficult in the hubbub, and Pearly was pleased when he was back in the car and on the way to his flight. The seafood chowder had lacked substance but possessed a greasy sheen, and the apple turnover had revealed little fruit whether right way up or upside down. ‘Just drop me off,’ said Pearly. ‘No need to come in.’

Kevin thanked Pearly for coming up and for guaranteeing the accounting and legal fees, but already a certain jaunty disregard was resurrected in his manner. It occurred to Pearly that while he loved his son, he didn’t find him likeable as an adult. Although often enough united, love and liking are two quite separate emotions. Pearly took no pleasure in his realisation of the distinction.

On the departures screen it said his flight was delayed twenty minutes. As a frequent flyer, Pearly knew that meant half an hour at least: they softened you up first before the full extent of the delay was revealed. He went into the Koru Club, found a comfortable chair and rang Helen. ‘I’ll let you know how it goes for time,’ and he began to tell her of the meeting with Jack Hughes and Lim Wilson, the decision to hire a lawyer to contest the insurance decision. Just to be talking to her made him feel better: someone who understood and cared, who loved Kevin and understood him better than Pearly did himself.

The flight to Christchurch left forty minutes late. Pearly was seated beside a small, restless boy with a pugnacious chin and a large bag of potato chips, the remnants of which soon became scattered over Pearly’s lap. The boy’s father was slim, dark haired and handsome, almost like an Italian actor except for his Kiwi accent and that he had a piece of sweet corn caught in his teeth. Pearly thought at first it was a large gold filling, but as the man leant past his son and enlightened his fellow passenger at length on mechanical irrigation, Pearly saw it wasn’t permanent. Pearly brushed crumbs from his trousers and registered the detail of irrigation machinery with nods, smiles and a total lack of interest. It wasn’t a lengthy flight from Auckland to Christchurch. He was glad of that.

EIGHTEEN